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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


PS3503 
.R72 

1901 


-      ■     -  .:::;:::}ia] 

This  book  is  due  at  the  LOUIS  R.  WILSON  LIBRARY  on  the 
last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hold  it  may  be 
renewed  by  bringing  it  to  the  Hbrary. 

DATE                    RPT 
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DATE                     -,„ 
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fnryn  Nr-,     m  'Z 

THE    DESTINY 

AND   OTHER    POEMS 


<>>' 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR 

VAGARIES      ....      ^i  .00 


Small  Maynard  &  Company,   Boston 


THE 
DESTINY 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 
BY  FLORENCE  BROOKS 


"^ 


BOSTON 

SMALL   MAYNARD 

6f  COMPANY 
1901 


I90/ 


Copyright  igoi  by 
SMALL  MATNARD  &  COMPANY 

{Incorforate) 


The  E'verett  Press 
Boston  U.S.A. 


TO 

R .  and   L. 


(JNcl. 


CONTENTS 


THE  DESTINY 

PAGE 

I  The  Wanderer 3 

II  Sonnet 6 

III  The  Story 7 

IV  Song 18 

V  Song 19 

VI  Song 20 

VII  Song 21 

VIII  Ode 22 

IX  Sonnet 26 

X  Song 27 

XI  Song 28 

XII  Farewell 29 


II 


The  Room 33 

The  Pool       35 

The  Bed 38 

Prelude 40 

Birth 44 


III 


The  Passion 47 

Sapphics 48 

C.  B 49 

Kalamazoo 50 

Ghazels      51 

VII 


IV 

PAGE 

Flos  Florum 55 

Songs 57 

Autumn  Heart 58 

Oblivion 61 

Venit  Rex 62 

The  Poet 63 

Love  of  the  Night 66 

At  Last 67 

Eleanor      68 

Resurrection 69 

Abjuration 70 

The  Two  Ways 72 

Second  Winter 73 

The  North 74 

In  Church      . '](» 

Ode  to  the  Mountains 77 

Diabolus  Advocatus 82 

Prayer 84 


The  Lost  Continent 87 

Bondage 88 

Postponement .  89 

Assurance 90 

Missed  Affinity 91 

Sonnet 92 


VIII 


I 


THE  DESTINY 


Unbounded  though  he  wander,  memory 
Hath  bound  the  immortal  sinew  of  the  man 
To  mortal  past  of  granite  wall  and  moat; 
To  the  stern  warring  heart  of  ancestors; 
To  feudal  centuries  and  to  the  law. 

Sailing  from  out  the  miasmatic  mist 

Of  sad,  strange  shores  his  memory  gropes  ahead 

Beyond  the  prow.    .    .    .    O  twilight  luminous. 

Reach  thou  for  him  thy  whisper  through  the  dark !  .  .  . 

The  lilac  waters  wash  the  twilight  land 

Lying  across  the  prow;  the  wanderer  views 

The  soft  dove-coloured  sky,  the  brooding  trees. 

The  isolate  spires  that  guard  the  cozy  roofs 

Of  a  low  candle-lighted  town.    His  heart 

Lingers  and  shrinks.    ...    O  he  has  tasted  wine 

And  blood!    Between  fierce  gulps  and  gasps  he  lived 

In  hot  exotic  lands  until  his  soul 

Was  fire  and  burned  the  fabric  of  his  life. 

So  sad,  so  heavy  hangs  the  lusting  heart 
For  life  within  him  watching  on  the  deck 
In  half  dream  at  the  mooring  in  the  dusk. 
To  feel  the  peaceful  night  enfold  him  there 
Without  a  promise  for  the  after  days 
His  tireless  fancy  reaches  toward!    These  days 
Of  ordered  trifles !    God !    How  he  shall  long 
For  the  erratic  ardours  of  the  past! 

3 


Free,  free,  free,  free  to  roam  the  seas  and  streams. 
To  cleave  the  giant  forests,  to  descend 
From  hostile  heights,  an  eagle  in  the  wilds. 
Into  the  treacherous  plain  where  savages 
Shall  spring  to  spear  or  knife  or  assagai!   .    .    . 
God !    To  be  knife  to  knife  and  hand  to  hand 
In  the  fierce  sensual  intimacy  of  the  fight. 
To  brave  the  warring  brotherhood  of  man, 
Immingling  sinews  in  a  long  embrace 
Where  death  is  passion!    Eye  to  eye  he  strave 
In  ardent  hatred  in  the  mortal  game 
Where  life  blood  was  the  currency!   The  man 
Thrills  to  remembered  touch  of  flesh  to  flesh. 
The  push  of  arm  against  the  panting  side. 
The  intimate  slow  strain  of  strength  to  strength 
Satiate  in  blood  and  sweat. 

Against  the  mast. 
With  all  his  mind  adream  of  stirring  days. 
Of  swift  or  slow  full  days,  he  meditates 
On  wonder  and  on  wisdom.    He  has  learned 
Out  of  the  subtle  mouths  of  many  priests 
And  many  women.  .  .  .  What  forbidding  doors 
Are  open  to  his  fancy!    Treasurings 
Of  music  and  of  dream  he  would  not  grasp 
Are  his  to  breathe  and  brush!    What  barricades 
That  blind  the  peering  eyes  of  smaller  men 
Are  hurled  chaotic  in  his  thought !    The  flash. 
Lurid  and  livid,  of  wide  undreamed  wastes. 
Blotted  with  ancient  gloom,  his  spirit  sees. 
He  sees  the  maddened  eyes,  the  frenzied  look 
Of  warriors,  and  he  knows  the  crouching  thing 

4 


That  slaves  or  bends  or  begs,  or  is  ignored. 
The  knavish  female  or  the  bright-eyed  child 
With  small  bare  breasts,  before  she  sets  her  fate 
Beneath  her  master's.    .    .    .    His  the  mastery- 
Above  them  all!   .    .    . 


II 


Weave  me  a  lovely  story,  O  my  love. 

Of  still  soft  villas  by  the  Ultramar, 

Of  blue-green  seas  where  you  have  voyaged  far 

To  reach  the  alluring  land  of  lemon  grove 

And  flashing  love-birds,  where  the  coo  of  dove 

Throbs  through  the  South  of  glowing  sun  and  star. 

Where  among  glittering  palms  the  dark  men  war, 

O  whisper  breathless  tales  of  how  you  strove. 

Of  mighty  river  forces  sing  the  story. 

Of  slow,  swift  floods  and  far  shores  many-hued. 

Or  on  the  heights  where  scarlet  orchids  gleam 

To  match  your  quenchless  fire,  in  my  sweet  dream 

Let  me  behold  the  vision  of  your  glory 

And  share  the  soul  of  your  great  solitude! 


Ill 


The  wanderer  sees  in  vision. 
Lying  upon  a  strange  distorted  shore 
By  a  great  rushing  river,  his  own  shape.    .    .    . 
For  stealthy  nights  had  robbed  him  of  his  health 
While  savage  suns  consumed  him  all  the  day. 
He  was  deserted,  wrecked  with  weariness !   .    .    . 
What  impotent  dumb  weakness  stupefied 
His  daring  brain?    What  languor  made  his  arm 
Forget  the  weapon?    Why  must  he  relinquish 
All  he  had  clasped  in  passion,  or  had  crushed 
In  rage  consummate? 

Thus  the  wanderer 
Among  the  reedy  grasses,  overhung 
By  the  scant  sadness  of  an  isolate  palm. 
Heard  with  unhearing  ears  the  steady  song 
Of  an  indifferent  flood,  upon  whose  face 
He  saw,  unseeing,  a  tremendous  force 
Defy  him  in  his  dying.    Deep  the  hum 
Of  that  dark  mottled  current  moaned  despair 
To  whomsoever  dared  desire  to  soothe 
Discords  stupendous,  or  to  curb  the  strain 
Superb,  that  nature  shouts  with  all  her  spheres 
In  universal  hymnal  grandiose. 

But  he,  sublime  in  human  hope,  his  soul 
Unsapped  by  vaporous  visions,  dragged  him  on 
Along  the  ledges.    How  with  his  straight  blade 
He  shaped  from  the  stubborn  trunk  a  laboured  skiff 
He  scarce  recalls — the  intermittent  wish 

7 


To  live  had  grown  so  weak — nor  how  he  launched 
The  primitive  craft,  nor  how  he  held  his  bow 
One  with  the  savage  current  till  the  end.    .    .    . 

One  night  the  waters  flung  him  on  a  shore 

Of  primal  wildness,  not  unknown  to  him. 

Whereon  he  staggered  swooning,  but  the  sun 

Of  morning  roused  him ;  he  was  not  to  die, 

For  he  must  yet  tempt  other  lives  and  deaths. 

Half  starved  and  wasted,  many  a  death  he  missed 

From  hidden  cliffs  or  treacherous  swamps,  and  once 

A  poisoned  arrow  found  him  by  a  chance 

Another  man  was  saved  from.    Then  at  evening. 

Turning  aside  from  a  rank  mountain  trail 

By  which  he  rode  a  long,  long  month  before 

Leading  his  men  in  desperate  hazard,  now 

He  thought  to  lie  again  in  the  deep  grass 

And  sleep  away  his  fever  till  the  chill 

Should  seize  him.    Half  in  swoon  he  staggered  on. 

But  suddenly  about  him  rustled,  waving. 

The  ragged  shreds  of  lush  banana  trees 

Shaking  their  banners  in  an  unknown  cleft 

Upon  the  high  hillside,  and  he  emerged 

Through  a  draped  opening  to  a  hidden  hut 

Shapeless  and  squat  and  thatched,  among  the  bush 

Of  spiked  palmettos ;  here  he  crawled  and  fell 

Shivering  upon  the  sill,  and  then  he  swooned.    .    .    . 

As  when  a  diver  pierces  through  the  warm 
And  sunsteeped  waters  to  a  silent  depth 
Icy  and  virgin  for  his  sharp  delight. 
So,  out  of  alternate  trances  in  the  heat, 

8 


Uncertain  with  half  wakenings,  weary  yet 

At  the  dull  door  of  death  where  he  had  wandered. 

The  chill  of  sunset  flowed  about  his  head 

And  brought  him  back  to  what  he  knew  as  life. 

A  crooning  scarcely  audible  he  heard 

From  the  deep  violet  shadows  round  the  place 

Whereon  he  lay  :   what  unharmonious 

Strange  sound  it  was  that  curled  the  waiting  air 

The  while  it  writhed  about  him  duskier  growing. 

To  lure  him  back  to  that  miasmic  dream 

Where  he  was  all  but  lost?   .    .    .    *0  mad  .    .    .    O 

wild  .    .    .' 
What  words,  as  of  some  age-old  mother-song. 
Trailed  through  his  stupor,  what  lost  passionate  voice. 
Thus  scarce  articulate  ?  .  .  .  *  O  mad  .  .  .  O  wild  .  .  . 

*0  mad   .    .    .    O  wild   .    .    . 
The  dream   .    .    .    the  dream   .    .    . 
I  seem,  I  seem 
To  feel  the  child  .    .    . 

*His  eyes   ...   his  eyes   .    .    . 

They  open  slow 

Upon  the  glow 

Of  saffron  skies   ... 

*He  died  ...   he  died   .    .    . 
And  went  to  God   .    .    . 
And  came  from  God   .    .    . 
Back  to  my  side  .    .    . 


'The  hut  is  sad   .    .    . 

The  hill  is  wild  .    .    . 

Cold  is  the  child   .    .    . 

And  I  am  mad  .    .    .   mad  .    .    .   mad!' 

He  swooned  and  yet  he  knew  he  was  alive. 
For  after  the  thick  night  had  lain  upon  him 
Hour-long,  the  voice  would  cease  in  mutterings. 
The  lonely  nightmare  of  those  broken  words 
Haunting  him  in  his  fever.    At  the  dawn 
Wild  creatures  seemed  to  tend  him  where  he  lay 
On  skins  he  thought  he  had  gathered  from  the  hunt 
And  spread  upon  a  heaped  palmetto  bed. 
Herbs  that  he  knew  were  pressed  upon  his  brow 
Or  bound  upon  the  poison  of  his  side; 
He  drank  the  barbarous  juices  of  the  land 
Unseeing  in  his  stupor   .    .    .    But  at  last 
His  eyes  were  open  to  the  yellow  light 
Piercing  Hke  golden  knives  across  the  black 
Of  silent  spiked  date-palms  that  never  shook 
In  the  still  heat  of  a  beginning  day. 
Out  of  the  gloom  of  death  he  seemed  to  wake 
To  a  new  birth,  and  heavy  purple  warmth 
Glowed  close  and  yet  so  far  through  a  strange  square 
That  might  have  been  the  door  'twixt  death  and  life. 
But  as  he  grew  to  see  he  knew  at  last 
That  he  was  in  a  hut  and  lay  alive 
Upon  a  pile  of  puma  skins  whose  sheen 
Of  tawny  silver  teased  his  wondering  sense 
To  know  when  he  had  piled  them  there.    At  length 
He  wearied  and  he  slept  again.    At  noon 
He  woke.    Beside  him  crouching  from  the  heat 

lo 


And  mumbling  inarticulate  was  a  thing 

So  old  and  doubled  that  the  wanderer  scarce 

Believed  he  saw  it.    Whether  it  was  real 

Or  human  or  a  beast  he  wondered  long 

Without  a  fear,  for  he  was  like  a  child. 

So  passive.    He  recalled  the  fantasies 

But  vaguely,  of  the  shuddering  year-long  night 

When  he  was  newly  born.    So,  slowly,  then 

He  knew  the  creature  was  a  woman-thing; 

He  caught  the  muttering  of  her  skinny  throat; 

Felt  on  his  side  the  scratchings  of  her  claws 

Touch  him  the  while  he  granted  wonderingly 

The  sharp  caresses  of  her  savage  care. 

And  trusted  like  the  child  he  felt  he  was 

Her  wolf-like  motherhood.    .    .    . 

In  the  days  that  passed. 
Days  when  the  doorway  showed  a  golden  flame 
Swallowing  the  earth,  he  fevered  and  he  sweat 
In  weakness,  and  the  wolf-crone  tended  him. 
Hour-long  she  hunted  while  he  watched  her  slide 
Across  the  corner  fumbling  with  her  herbs 
Or  tearing  at  her  meat.    Her  eyes  were  hid 
In  rugged  fiirrows,  and  her  hairy  brows 
Were  drawn  together  squinting  at  the  sun ; 
Her  stalwart  back  was  bent  by  many  a  load 
In  long  decades  of  hunting,  Hke  a  man's; 
Likewise  her  bony  shambling  limbs  no  trace 
Of  aught  but  want  or  strife  could  show; — no  sign 
Of  tiger  graces  or  of  woman  beauty 
Illumed  the  brutish  bulk  so  overhung 
With  ragged  skins  and  tatters ;  horny  feet 

1 1 


Scratched  at  the  ground  she  ambled  on ;   the  touch 
Of  her  grey  hands  was  all  the  wanderer  knew 
Of  her  humanity,  while  she  clutched  his  side 
With  nursing.     Queer  the  image  unto  him. 
For  he  remembered  luxury  and  love 
In  palaces  where  he  had  laid  his  head 
On  lovely  laps,  a  wounded  royal  charge. 
Though  still  through  that  sweet  dream  relinquishing 
Never  the  bitter  struggle  unredeemed.    .    .    . 

Fearless  the  man  grew  slowly  from  the  child 
He  had  been  when  he  woke  as  from  the  womb. 
Withered  and  centuries  old,  of  the  wolf- wife. 
Who  mothered  him  with  savage  thrusts  and  grips. 
Huddled  at  night  on  the  cold  earthern  floor. 
Forgetting  with  the  light  all  but  a  joy 
Long-starving  at  her  entrails,  grovelling 
With  the  old  fire  that  fed  the  loosened  seed 
Of  a  man-child.    .    .    .    Her  very  soul  had  gone 
With  all  her  womanhood,  the  female  dower. 
Into  the  dissolute  progeny  of  her  loins   .    .    . 
But  in  the  night  with  savage  growlings,  she 
Lay  licking  at  the  hand  that  was  so  weak 
And  biting  with  her  gums  the  finger  tips 
Of  the  faint  prince  of  warriors.    God,  O  God! 
At  last  how  did  the  pain  of  passion  shred 
The  tendons  of  the  brutish  woman's  heart 
For  this  supreme  bestowal  to  her  want!   .    .    . 

O,  all  the  wasted  beauty  of  him  gleamed 
And  god- like  grew  through  many  tropic  dawns 
For  her  senility,  and  pierced  the  bhndness 

12 


Of  ancient  eyes,  and  when  the  moonlight  rifted 
Under  the  thatch  upon  his  pearl  and  ebony — 
The  dear  wan  flesh  of  all  his  body  wasted — 
The  creature  gulped  a  snarl  that  grew  a  sob 
And  snatched  the  fiirs  to  cover  that  sweet  beauty 
From  the  cold  jealous  moon !    The  wonderfiil 
Laxity  of  his  wan  sure  feet  she  saw. 
As  rare  as  the  white  violet  and  as  fair. 
Rising  in  nervous  twining  suppleness 
To  the  tense  knee  whence  sprang  the  undulations 
Winding  the  thigh,  and  in  their  woven  beauty 
The  twisting  muscles,  strong  as  cypress  fibre. 
Pale  as  the  pearl  translucence  of  an  orchid 
In  tender  fleshly  texture,  felt  the  woman 
Through  her  worn  eyes;  and  the  luxuriance 
From  where  the  throat  began  in  bluish  shadows 
Beneath  the  beard,  the  flare  of  widening  whiteness 
Of  the  cleft  breast,  the  mobile  turn  of  shoulder. 
The  straight  smooth  side  as  of  a  veined  marble, 
Carven  above  the  loin  in  a  short  tunic — - 
That  loin  magnificent! — At  its  beginning 
Like  a  slim  snow-clad  ridge,  the  apotheosis 
Of  the  victorious  charm  of  his  dear  manhood!  — 
His  wasted  force,  with  not  too  tender  touch 
She  gripped  and  gave  to  him  in  brutal  tending; 
By  sturdy  clutch  she  brought  the  life  blood  coursing 
Through  his  heroic  frame.    Humble,  she  gathered 
The  primal  force  thus  garnered  from  the  years 
Mounting  to  five-score  of  the  woman-brute. 

Within  her  motherhood  bloomed  as  day  by  day 
He  grew  to  live  again  in  her  lean  grasp, 

13 


In  the  remembrance  of  his  former  strength 
He  waxed,  impatient  for  the  renewing  deed 
Of  the  warrior,  of  the  hero,  of  the  man. 
Words  of  a  formless  thought  came  to  his  mind 
Gleaned  from  harsh  murmurings  of  her  monologue. 
Sung  from  the  eternal  woman-song  for  him 
In  his  dejection: 

*  Though  thou  shouldest  lose 

The  tone  of  thy  steel  spirit. 

King  before  me,  O  my  child! 

Though  thou  shouldest  grow 

Ever  more  wan — 

Though  thou  shouldest  waste 

From  hunger  and  from  wounds. 

From  fever  in  the  wilds — 

Still  in  thy  beauteous  ruin 

Thou  shouldest  be 

My  child  again,  king  among  wanderers. 

Thou  man  of  destiny ! 

Go  thou  to  fight  again 

0  soul  of  my  lost  heaven! 

1  bore  you  in  my  loins  once,  but  you  died. 
When  you  had  parted  from  my  jealous  flesh. 
Had  torn  me  with  your  savage  ecstasy 

To  breathe  the  dumb  air  of  the  speechless  world. 
You  died  because  your  spirit  gasped  and  fled  .   .   . 
And  I  could  never  find  it  on  these  hills  .   .  . 
And  so  I  let  it  go,  the  free-born  soul!  .   .   .' 

It  was  as  if  he  heard  the  responsive  air 
Sound  and  resound  around  his  heavy  head 

H 


A  dream  distorted  grown  from  out  the  past 
Of  a  wild  motherhood  and  full  of  hope 
For  the  great  freedom,  first,  of  all  her  sons. 
Her  fellows,  her  sad  country  and  her  race. 
Burning  eternally  in  her,  last  to  die 
The  first  great  instinct,  freedom,  fed  her  life. 
Muttering  at  evening  when  she  crouched  alone 
In  the  dark  shadow  farthest  from  the  bed. 
Her  inarticulate  words  let  free  a  spark 
From  the  ashes  of  her  speech,  and  *  liberty* 
'Liberty'  was  the  word  he  heard,  and  'child' 
And  'God'  and  'child'  again,  and  'mad!  .  .  .  mad  . 

mad  !  .  .  .' 
Crouching  beneath  his  level  in  the  dawn. 
Breathing  above  the  night  and  passing  out 
To  the  eternal  silence  of  the  stars. 
Until  the  raving  suddenly  was  still 
Submerged  in  violent  pan  tings  as  her  breath 
Yielded  to  harsh  control,  or  wearmess. 

Some  splendid  impulse  thrilled  him  to  the  Hfe 
He  once  had  clothed  with  splendour,  valorous 
Or  subtle;  rapturous  or  rich  with  love. 
He  roused  from  out  the  toxic  swoon  his  sense 
Had  sunk  in  and  he  dreamed  of  all  the  deeds 
That  the  world  needed  mighty  men  to  do. 
Thus,  slowly,  as  a  traveller  in  a  desert 
Surviving  all  the  stages  of  his  strife 
With  torrid  heat  and  thirst  and  beasts  of  prey. 
The  wanderer  came  again  unto  his  own. 
His  inner  paradise  of  splendid  ardour. 
Great  wondering  had  led  him  where  he  was 

15 


To  make  the  wild  men  wrangle,  stab  and  die; 
To  know  the  real  crude  impulse;  to  subdue 
Such  creatures  for  his  own  wise  masculine  ends 
That  he  might  bend  to  order  all  the  race.  .  .  . 
Fragments  of  his  large  hope  came  in  swift  moods 
Flashing  like  fire  with  exquisite  sharp  pain 
Into  a  languid  day  of  wakening. 
Roused  by  his  hope  in  the  keen  hours  of  dawn 
He  saw  nor  that  which  nursed  him,  nor  the  hut 
That  housed  them  both  as  fellow  brutes;  he  saw. 
Isolate,  at  war  in  soul  against 
The  later  sordid  days,  oppression,  laws. 
His  own  ghost  rise  and  ride  the  wastes  alone. 
Gathering  one  by  one  the  shadow-shapes 
From  a  disordered  country.    There  a  germ 
Of  fortune  surely  sown  by  him  would  grow 
Into  a  regal  triumph  in  the  years 
Of  his  new  knighthood;  so  he  was  himself 
But  glorified  by  the  sharp  certainty 
Of  new  self  knowledge.    She,  the  stark  thing,  crouched 
With  gleamless  eyes  within  the  shade,  like  dead. 
And  as  he  grew  to  be  a  man  again 
The  flame  of  motherhood  within  the  hag. 
Dwindling  thus,  was  hidden  more  and  more. 
Until  she  crawled  about  among  the  shadows 
Absenting  her  the  more  from  day  to  day 
And  sleeping  at  the  threshold  in  the  night. 
So  fled  the  life  from  her  to  him,  so  grew 
The  spark  from  her  fierce  seasons  through  his  hours 
Of  convalescence.    Woe  unto  the  woman 
When  he,  the  warrior,  woke  to  his  desire! 
Could  the  free  flowing  tears  but  solace  her 

i6 


She  were  to  envy!    But  the  hardening 

Of  her  rich-fibred  years  had  closed  upon 

A  heart  of  pain,  scarce  pulsing  in  a  prison 

More  cruel  than  the  mad-house!   Mouthing,  mumbling. 

He  heard  her  bid  him  go,  and  *  liberty' — 

*  Liberty'  was  his  warrant. 

Thus  he  rose 
And  took  new  strength  against  the  new  oppression. 
He  fought  for  liberty  against  the  old 
Blind  feebleness ;  he  fought  for  chivalry 
And  peace ;  for  truth  and  for  simplicity ; 
For  reason,  equal  justice,  and  for  right 
In  law  and  love.  .  .  . 

But  when  a  hunger 
To  mingle  with  his  kin  obscured  his  triumph. 
As  if  some  soft  mist  overspread  the  scene 
Of  summer  glory;  and  he  yearned  to  see 
The  home  ancestral  he  was  born  to,  then 
On  the  far  voyage  over  Ultramar 
The  wanderer  departs.     He  will  not  live 
A  slave  to  any  race!    Unhmited 
His  wandering,  for  his  brothers  are  the  world! 


17 


IV 

Where  is  our  kingdom,  love? 
That  old  sweet  realm 
Of  faded  airs,  above 
Whose  florid  vi^reaths  the  elm 
Waves  flowery  branches. 
And  the  garnished  god 
Smiles  amid  garlands? 

Or  come  you  from  the  sea 
That  laps  a  town 
Softly,  incessantly. 
Where  palaces  look  down 
Upon  the  turnings. 
And  tidal  ways 
Surge  in  the  twilight  ? 

Where  would  you  take  me,  love? 

Into  the  South 

Of  the  orange  grove 

Where  a  tropic  drouth 

Drenches  in  purple 

The  royal  land. 

Languorous,  alluring? 

O  let  our  empire  rise 
Out  of  the  dark 
Of  myriad  midnight  skies 
Starred  with  the  mark 
Of  an  eternal, 
A  world-long  love. 
White  in  the  ages! 
i8 


V 

Thou  hast  taken  the  light  from  my  eyes 

And  it  gleams  on  thy  sword; 
Thou  hast  taken  the  rose  from  my  cheek 

And  it  lies  on  thy  breast; 
Thou  hast  taken  my  word  and  the  rest. 

Thou  wilt  thrust  at  thy  intimate  foe 

The  arm  that  embraced; 
Thou  wilt  drink  with  the  mouth  I  have  kissed 

The  blood  with  the  dust 
In  thy  taste  for  the  fray  and  thy  lust. 

My  breast  thou  hast  bared  for  thy  head 

Lies  pale  in  the  field ; 
My  mouth  thou  hast  sought  in  the  dark 

Is  the  wound  of  thy  side  ; 
My  joy  is  the  yield  of  thy  pride. 

I  have  sent  out  my  soul  in  the  fire 

Of  the  night  of  the  fray ; 
I  have  opened  the  deeps  of  my  heart 

To  thy  hot  thirsting  breath, 
I  would  stay  in  thy  spirit  in  death. 


19 


VI 


Lord  of  the  life  that  welters  through  the  ways 
Paling  my  sides  and  purpling  all  my  veins; 
Sweet  lord  of  all  my  passions  and  my  pains. 

My  precious  tears,  my  praise. 

My  nights,  my  lonely  days. 

Within  me  flows  thy  fire 
Through  the  fine  channels  trembling  to  thy  thrill. 
Answering  thy  wild  delight  to  wilder  sob 
So  all  the  earth  and  all  the  heavens  throb 

Through  my  desire  to  still 

The  ardour  of  thy  will. 

Thy  sovereign  desire. 

Lord  of  the  little  life  that  heareth  not. 
Bound  in  the  crimson  bud,  what  restless  seas 
Or  evening  tempests  sing,  or  the  slight  breeze 

Sighs  to  the  new  begot 

Of  a  mysterious  lot. 

Within  me  flows  thy  fire; 
Thine  is  the  hfe  that  lights  the  violet  gloom 
Hidden  in  me  for  my  consuming  dole. 
Flushing  my  cheek,  devouring  my  white  soul. 

For  thee  my  myrtles  bloom. 

Flowers  of  the  tragic  womb. 

Sweet  lord  of  my  desire ! 


20 


VII 

The  body  is  not,  love,  save  for  the  soul; 

Dumb  is  the  flesh  and  dead. 
My  essence  is  elusive  as  the  scroll 

Woven  and  formed  and  fled 
When  the  blue  weaves  of  forest  smoke  unroll 

Their  tendrils  overhead. 

I  have  grown  sacred,  love,  because  of  you, 

Because  of  these  blest  hours  5 
And  wine  is  as  my  mouth,  and  honey-dew 

My  tears,  and  many  flowers 
My  flesh,  and  all  my  veins  the  heaven's  blue,- 

The  chrism  of  love  is  ours. 


21 


VIII 

Take  my  wan  feet  within  your  hands 

And  let  them  feel 

The  tears  of  one  who  goes  not  to  return. 

The  heavy  tears  of  loneliness  in  lonely  lands. 

Would  you  conceal 

The  winds?    Hamper  the  floods? 

Forbid  the  fires  that  burn? 

Deny  great  moods 

Within  the  grandeur  of  those  heights 

Where  you  will  stand  alone? 

The  isolate  hills  where  you  will  rove? 

The  strange  still  nights 

When  the  seas  moan 

With  the  eternal  voice  of  our  long  woe? 

My  love,  my  love! 

Listen,  I  bid  you  go 

Into  the  royal  richness  of  those  wilds 

Wilder  than  our  wild  love. 

More  royal  than  my  soul. 

Richer  than  me! 

My  love  is  free! 

The  reaches  of  the  future  are  yours  and  mine, 

Great  love  that  seemest  to  hold  my  soul! 

Palely  the  flowers 

Of  my  cool  flesh  are  lying 

Under  your  hand. 

The  strange,  passionate  orchid,  the  rose-golden  wine 

Of  our  rare  love 

Have  changed;  — 

22 


The  dying 

And  the  immortal  life  are  ours 

Out  of  the  essence  of  their  mingled  whole. 

My  love,  my  love! 

Mine  were  you,  mine,  before 

The  thunder  and  the  thrill 

From  the  far,  shaken  shore 

Thrust  us  together  in  one  life,  until 

The  fusion  was  one  soul. 

Ours  the  wide  earth 

Although  you  be  estranged 

From  my  unconsecrate  flesh, 

O  earthly  one! 

My  soul  sleeps  in  your  fibre,  love! 

The  double  beauty  of  us  in  the  mesh 

Of  fate  has  led  us  on 

To  one  supremest  birth. 

Your  soul  in  me. 

Henceforth,  my  love,  my  love. 

Free  are  you,  free! 

O  Solitudes, 

Ye  shall  lie  long  upon  his  soul. 

In  poignant  nights  of  rapture. 

In  strange  spaces 

Of  wonder  where  his  goal 

May  lead  him  unaware 

Through  the  vastness  of  the  spheres. 

Through  uncomprehending  places. 

Through  ambushed  days  and  nights  of  capture ! 

He  shall  roam,  he  shall  dare 

Without  the  whims,  the  fears 

23 


Of  a  small  fate 

To  bind  him. 

What  tragic  kisses  tremble  through  the  dark! 

What  hushed  enthralling 

Of  soul  by  soul! 

O  some  pristine,  imperial  state 

Shall  find  him ! 

The  planet's  reel,  the  orbed  roll 

Of  suns  shall  crown  him ! 

The  vacuum  of  space  is  calling 

My  king  from  me!    So  late. 

So  near  the  dawn. 

So  far  from  me. 

His  spirit  broods. 

Shivers,  awakes,  is  gone 

To  the  vast  kingdom  of  his  moods. 

Yet  in  the  glory  of  those  other  years. 

The  stern  strong  years  of  power. 

Out  of  the  past 

Of  our  two  mingled  souls  shall  flame  the  flower. 

The  white  ilhmitable  treasure 

Of  the  sweet  tears. 

Of  the  old  hungering  pleasure. 

And  the  immortal  peace 

Of  our  relinquished  love. 

J. 

At  last,  at  last, 
O,  this  of  me  shall  cease. 
My  hands  that  love  you  and  my  timid  feet 
You  help  and  hold! 
My  eyes  you  love. 
My  fruitfulness  you  enfold! 

24 


Yet  sweet,  O  sweet 
Shall  sing  the  fire. 
The  flower  caress. 
The  soul  of  us  aspire 
And  bless 
All  that  has  been. 
All  that  shall  be 
Of  us  until  eternity- 
Is  sphered  within 
Our  everlasting  love! 


25 


IX 


O  WHEN  the  time  shall  come  that  you  depart 
Let  not  our  world  of  love  be  dyed  in  fears. 
Nor  yield  that  any  bitter  forecast  sears 
Our  passionate  yearnings ;  let  us  play  no  part 
Before  the  impassive  heaven  w^ith  childish  art ; 
Let  us  not  hmit  love  to  Httle  years 
Of  lawless  laughter,  nor  with  lover's  tears 
Deny  the  future,  lover  of  my  heart ! 
But  leave  me  as  a  sovereign,  O  my  king. 
The  crowned  queen  of  our  supreme  domain. 
That  you  may  ride  in  splendour  to  your  goal 
While  all  the  mighty  centuries  stand  and  sing 
Of  war  and  love,  of  triumph  and  of  pain. 
And  our  great  joy,  O  lover  of  my  soul ! 


26 


X 


Come  to  me,  little  one,  are  you  afraid? 
See  how  the  storm  blows  keen  on  the  sea. 
Straining  and  streaming,  unfearing,  unreckoning. 
See  the  white  sailing  ships  tossing  and  beckoning. 
Hear  the  seas  shouting  and  calling  to  me; 
Come  to  me,  Httle  one,  warrior  maid! 

Little  one,  child  heart,  have  you  not  said. 
Soft  in  the  soul  of  the  long  summer  night. 
Words  of  the  warrior  whispering  the  best  in  me? 
Ah,  now  your  lover  must  follow  his  destiny. 
Have  you  not  fired  all  his  soul  to  the  fight? 
Little  one,  always  my  warrior  maid! 

Child  of  my  heyday,  soul  of  my  blade, 

Shm  as  my  sword  and  as  fiery  and  fi^ee. 

See  how  the  storm  skies  are  thundering,  darkening. 

Loud  is  the  song  of  the  wind  we  are  harkening. 

Child,  O  my  Httle  one,  whisper  to  me. 

Wish  me  good  wandering,  warrior  maid! 


27 


XI 


The  old  sad  destiny  I  share  with  her 

Whose  simple  soul 
Is  weeping  unaware  within  its  sleep ; 

For  me  no  splendid  goal 
Conceals  the  tomb  that  all  the  ages  keep 

For  fame's  great  freeholder. 

I  to  forever  love  and  you  to  do 

The  glorious  deed. 
You  to  forever  Hve  and  I  to  die, — 

I,  with  the  woman's  need 
To  go  on  loving  all  a  lifetime  through 

While  you  can  pass  love  by! 


28 


XII 

O  LEAVE  the  shore 
Without  a  tear — 
The  wide  seas  roar. 
The  heavens  cry  — 
Without  a  fear. 
Without  a  sigh. 
For  evermore, 
O  evermore 
Your  love  am  I! 


29 


II 


THE    ROOM 

Ghost  of  the  shelter  of  a  wandering  soul. 
Sweet  room  —  O  shadowed  room! 

Substance  of  life  is  pushing  through  the  gloom. 
Unending,  never  whole. 

To  one  the  room  has  been  an  ambushed  lair ; 

To  one  a  primal  cave 
Fierce  with  the  face  of  death ;  to  one  a  grave 

After  hfe-long  despair. 

For  him  who  blasphemes  love  no  heaven  glows 

Inside  the  holy  shade. 
Out  shall  he  hurry  when  the  test  is  made. 

Bereft  of  wine  and  rose ! 

Large  influences  hover  in  those  walls. 

Uninjured  by  the  mean; 
Free  of  the  sordid,  clear  of  the  unclean 

A  subtle  blessing  falls. 

What  persons  met  me,  loved  me,  held  me  there? 

How  should  the  past  invite 
That  I,  a  stranger,  for  a  day  or  night 

Enjoyed  the  royal  fare? 

A  thousand  lovers  in  the  shadows  lure; 

A  thousand  breathing  lips 
Brush  mine ;   the  long  day  unimagined  slips. 

Rounded  by  the  obscure. 

33 


The  pain  that  has  been  here  is  passion  now. 

Crushed  in  the  silent  bond 
Between  us,  heritants  of  the  dim  beyond. 

Last  lovers,  I  and  thou! 


34 


THE  POOL 

I  AM  a  still  pool  in  the  shadow. 
Deep  hidden  in  twilight. 
Dark  as  night  in  the  day. 
Strong  as  sunshine  in  the  shadow. 

The  still  pool  knows  no  dawn. 
Thou  hast  seen  but  the  summer 
When  efflorescent,  fringed,  covered. 
The  marges  hide  the  dawn. 

Marges  of  the  soul, — beauty! 
But  all  below — mystery! 
Wait,  no  straggler  is  certain, 
O  casual  loiterer,  of  this  beauty. 

He  that  sings  sadly. 

Making  melancholy  love  to  the  moonrise. 
May  not  see  me  under  the  marges 
Shadowed  silently,  sadly. 

He  that  loveth  the  world. 
Wide  weave  his  footsteps! 
The  still  pool  echoes  never,  never 
The  clang  of  the  peaceless  world. 

The  summer  hideth  the  marge 
In  garish  glory  of  gold. 
In  green  and  ruddy  leafage. 
With  yellow  of  bracken,  hideth, 

35 


Burning  to  blood-red  in  autumn. 
Piling  with  fawn-color. 
Tawny-leaved,  rusty,  rustling. 
Ragged, — the  marge  in  autumn. 

Bare  me  to  winter!    Ah,  Love, 
Thou  shiverest.    Whom  love  knows  not 
Lieth  silent  before  him. 
Thus  I  forever.  Love. 

I,  unknown,  unaware,  unwanted. 
Still,  still,  the  frozen  pool. 
Icy-pierced,  passive. 
Bound  in  the  season,  unwanted. 

Wait !    Shall  there  be  springtime.  Love  ? 

A  thousand  mirrored  glints 

Wake  in  my  surface 

All  of  beauty  and  first  love. 

Green,  like  the  garment  of  earth. 
Dark,  like  the  deep  of  eyes. 
White,  like  remembered  snow. 
Fantastic,  fascinating,  under  the  earth 

The  pool  glimmers.    Purple, 
Bronze;  royal,  eternal; 
Rose  as  the  dawn,  and  yet 
Gleam  from  it  pearl  and  pale  purple. 

Silvered  tints  drift  on  the  pool. 
O  mystery, — mysteries 

36 


Thou  love  shalt  hunger  toward, 
Shalt  long  for,  in  the  pool. 

Long  as  a  life,  longer. 

The  low  waters. 

Under  the  ledges,  silent,  still. 

Sleep,  a  lifetime  of  seasons,  longer. 

Give  up  thy  secrets,  winter! 
Whispering  or  crooning. 
Breathless  or  sobbing, 
Wild  winds  in  the  hush  of  winter. 

The  wellsprings  wander. 
Weltering,  welling,  alive; 
All  earth  is  theirs  and  life. 
Thou  loiterer,  thou  wanderer! 


37 


THE  BED 

The  permanent  repose  of  centuries 

Broods  in  the  purple  folds. 
There  birth,  seeming  to  mock  the  obsequies 

Of  yesterday,  unfolds. 
Sobbing,  another  future  to  its  woe; 

Or  the  sweet  young  await. 
Sleeping,  a  destiny;  or  later,  lo, 

Longing,  an  undreamed  fate. 

The  splendours  of  the  bed  deluge  the  earth. 

He  who  is  loved  or  dead. 
And  she  who  loves  or  dies;  despair  or  birth. 

All  there  are  bred; 
All  given,  taken;  grief  and  peace  there  keep 

The  panther  and  the  dove; 
All  found  or  fled;  and  evanescent  sleep 

Purple  with  night;  and  love. 

Persistent  with  theatrals  throngs  the  host 

In  crimson  pomp  and  gold; 
The  dim  blue  phantoms  there;  the  misty  ghost 

When  the  new  mocks  the  old; 
When  the  rose-melting  wraiths  arise,  adorn 

The  common  human  bower; 
When  flesh  turns  unto  flesh ;  when  love  is  born 

At  the  supernal  hour. 

Wild  as  the  winds  of  heaven  the  wild  heart 
Doth  tremble  to  resolve 

38 


The  rapture  lurking  there;  to  pluck  apart 
Soul-mysteries.    Where  involve 

The  violet  visions  curtaining  the  couch 
In  fluted  fume,  O  bloom 

Thou  flower  of  night,  O  open  to  the  touch 
Thou  presage  of  the  tomb ! 


39 


PRELUDE 


This  night  of  sighing  winds  and  shaking  boughs 
I  come  to  you,  my  heart's  wild  mate,  I  come! 
Feel  you  the  tempting  of  the  leafy  house. 

Our  forest  home  ? 
Feel  you  the  secret  silence  as  we  rove. 
Closing  around  us  ever  where  we  stray  ? 
Now  at  the  edges  of  a  curtained  grove, 

And  now  away 
Into  the  gleaming  fields,  by  shadowy  copse. 
Wherever  lead  your  lingering,  languid  feet 
In  promise  to  my  long-enbosomed  hopes 

I  follow,  sweet. 
The  half  moon  scarce  gives  light  to  show  how  still 
Lies  now  the  sunken  valley  sleeping  dim 
Below  our  pathway  on  the  silvery  hill. 

Beyond  whose  rim 
Our  odorous  forest  reaches  forth  his  arms 
To  help  his  wildlings  wander  on  their  way, 
.  The  mountain  winds  give  ever  new  alarms 

In  gusty  play, 
But  lending  to  the  loneness  of  the  spot 
Where  sway  the  sheltering  branches  now  above 
Your  lifted  face  that  kisses  frighten  not — 

You  are  my  love! 
Sink  we  into  the  fragrant  wild-wood  deeps! 
Here  hang  the  boughs  above  the  wooing  bed 
Where  dusk  invites  and  languorous  stillness  sleeps 

About  your  head. 
40 


O,  yield  unto  the  urging  of  the  gloom! 

I  feel  your  breast  give  way  beneath  my  breast! 

Let  this  be  death!    This  be  our  lasting  doom. 

This  is  love's  best! 
Is  it  a  swoon,  delirious  with  dream 
Of  eyes  that  hold  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
Upreaching  arms  wherein  my  senses  seem 

Faint  with  delight? 


41 


II 


0  see!    The  gusts  have  blown  the  crumpled  cloud 
Away  from  where  the  moon  is  moving  slow 

Across  the  troubled  sky — 
See!    All  the  trees  bend  low  before  the  loud 
Unstable  rage  of  the  rude  blasts  that  blow. 

Shunning  us  where  we  He! 

Hold  me  more  close  within  those  quiet  hands; 

1  hear  the  night-birds  moan,  I  fear  the  dark; 

Yes,  even  love  I  fear. 
What  omen  is  this  that  my  sense  withstands  ? 
What  haunts  me  with  a  dread  of  heaven's  mark 

Set  on  me  in  the  year  ? 

At  last  night  blots  out  all  our  earth,  O  love! 
Thickly  the  hollow  where  we  lie  is  darkened; 

Through  trances  come  your  words 
Murmuring  faintly,  mingled  from  above 
With  voice  of  winds  whose  presage  I  have  harkened. 

Warned  by  the  wise  night-birds. 


42 


Ill 


Far  in  the  eastern  sky,  above 
The  level  of  the  mist  across  the  vale. 
Our  last  night's  moon  doth  wane  and  pale. 

But  you  sleep  on,  my  love. 

Open,  dear  one,  those  love-sealed  eyes. 
And  watch  with  me  the  growing  of  the  day. 
Until  our  night  shall  pass  away. 

Until  the  sun  shall  rise. 

Strange  was  this  twofold  joy,  wherein 
We  held  the  hurrying  night  between  our  hearts 
Now  morning  into  heaven  starts. 

And  daylight  doth  begin. 


43 


BIRTH 

And  thou  wast  born! 
Thou  grewest  in  breathless  gloom 
Within  the  enfolding  tenure  of  the  womb; 

Thou  wast  enclosed,  embraced 
Within  the  jealous  sheath  where  thou  wast  placed 
By  love;  but  love  hath  called  thee  forth  from  me. 

That  thou  at  last  breathe  free. 
And  open  thy  sweet  eyes  unto  the  morn. 

I  dream  of  thee! 
With  first  weak  steps  I  come  to  lean  above 
And  fold  my  weakling  to  my  heart  of  love. 

Wherever  doth  increase 
A  joy  in  throbs  like  unto  pain. 

I  yearn  for  thee  to  ease 
The  rapture,  as  when  thy  soft  mouth  has  pressed 
The  very  life  of  nurture,  pearl-drops  without  stain 

From  my  breast! 
Thou  art  the  glorious  fruitage  of  my  love. 
The  air  of  myriad  springtimes  stirred  thy  soul. 
Bred  life  in  thee ; 
Nourished  wast  thou  from  above. 
By  the  warm  sky  wast  perfect  made  and  whole. 

Fostered  in  nature's  liberality. 
I  loved  thee  for  my  love's  sake  when  thou  wast  not  thou, 
Hadst  naught,  nor  form,  nor  sense. 
But  from  the  inmost  seed 
Of  a  close-mingled  rapture  wast  to  grow 
Through  nameless  shapes  of  life  to  evidence 
A  slow  perfection's  need. 


44 


Ill 


THE    PASSION 

I  WAS  at  the  heaven  of  all  the  heavens. 
Thrills  of  star-old  radiance  poured  to  meet  me. 
Let  me  reach  the  sight  of  supernal  glory- 
Near  the  eternal. 

Smote  my  eyes  the  calm  of  the  blinding  heaven, 
Avk^flil  rapture  searing  my  soul  to  whiteness 
Sang  above  the  doom  of  the  silent  pathway 
Glooming  below  me. 

Sullen  arms  of  darkness  have  crept  around  me. 
Mingling  voices  mutter  and  rise  and  hinder : 
'Would  ye  blot  the  heaven  with  mortal  longing? 
Sob  at  this  portal? 

*  Sit  by  some  slow  infinite  sea  of  yearning. 
Human  heart,  for  never  desire  shall  enter 
Clothed  with  pain,  unsated,  unloved,  unhoping,- 
You  of  the  shadows!' 

I  have  seen  the  heaven  of  all  the  heavens 
Flaming  high,  forbidden  to  me  astounded. 
While  I  mourn  reserved  and  immortal  spaces, 
I,  undeserving. 

Blessed  pain!    O  blessed  be  thou  forever! 
Never  mine  without  thee  the  grief  of  loving. 
Never  throbbing  heart  impassioned  with  sorrow. 
Never  the  Passion! 

47 


SAPPHICS 

Bold  the  heart  that  burns  with  the  acrid  essence 
Out  of  hearts  distraught  from  the  simple  loving 
Felt  in  sad  lone  wilds  by  the  simple-hearted 
Folk  of  the  fen-side. 

Wouldst  thou  cherish  love  ever  more  forever. 
Clinging,  sighing,  singing  and  crying  mutely? 
Feel  the  change,  the  tremor,  the  swerve,  the  triumph. 
All  for  a  rapture? 

Wouldst  thou  bring  to  birth  from  the  core  of  blooming  ? 
Dead  shall  be  the  child  of  thy  arid  passion. 
Cold  the  subtle  bud  shall  await  the  embalming 
Of  thy  forgetting! 

Wouldst  thou  conquer  aught  of  the  strange,  sweet  future  ? 
Thou  shalt  wake  and  wander  alone  in  sorrow. 
Know  the  olden  joy  and  the  olden  wonder 
Under  the  tempest! 


48 


C.   B. 

All  the  sweet  long  day  I  am  mad  with  fever. 
Burns  my  heart  in  silence  for  day  to  leave  her. 
Dusk  to  bring  her,  night  to  bestow  her  ever 
Close  in  my  keeping. 

Through  the  warm  blue,  thinly  a  moonlet  creepeth 
Toward  the  star  of  evening  where  pale  she  sleepeth ; 
Weep  not,   sweet!     Ah,   sweet,   doth  she  dream  she 
weepeth  ? 

Cometh  she  never! 


49 


KALAMAZOO 

Sprung  from  streams  the  Indian  knew  before  us, 
I  have  seen  the  Kalamazoo's  beginning 
In  the  deeps  of  Michigan's  towering  forests. 
Starred  with  his  pathways. 

Through  the  moving  on  of  your  flood,  O  river. 
Glows  submerged  the  emerald  of  your  gardens; 
From  the  wilds  your  sources  shall  swell  enchanted. 
Cold  and  untainted. 

Wave  the  fat  green  arms  of  your  water  witches. 
Palely  silvered ;   stirring  the  bronze  of  grasses 
Seem  to  writhe  a  myriad  of  mingling  serpents. 
Bloodless  and  nerveless. 

Brushed  and  tied  and  drenched  the  metallic  tresses 
Swaying  as  from  the  foreheads  of  dead  mermaidens 
Pillowed  sombre  in  plushes  of  mossy  weaving, 
Willessly  waving. 

O,  the  creeping  song  of  your  shores  at  nightfall! 
Unforgot  though  moveth  your  heavy  current 
Mighty  through  the  twilight  and  into  the  darkness. 
Sounding  of  mystery. 


50 


GHAZELS 


There  is  a  country  where  the  cactus  grows 
In  tough  persistence,  but  the  sweetest  rose 

Is  not  so  rich  as  that  fringed  crimson  bloom. 
Unharmed  though  sunheat  burns,   though    stormwind 
blows. 

There  barren  hills  swell  upward  to  the  sun 
Above  lagunes  whose  shallow  waters  run 

Down  from  slow-rising,  unmarked  summits,  where 
The  dry  grass  turns  from  green  to  dullest  dun. 

But  at  the  edges  of  the  pool,  unseen. 

The  grass  roots  touch  the  moisture,  reach  the  green. 

And  drink  in  purest  color,  neither  grey. 
Nor  silver-green,  nor  blue,  but  half  between. 

Beyond  there  lies  a  luxury  of  leaves, 
Lucent  or  ashen  grey, — one  flower  receives 

Gold  from  the  sun,  or  there  are  rosy  flowers 
Or  copper-red  or  white;  this  bloom  retrieves 

The  sterile  hill  from  bleakness,  and  the  sky. 
Sleeping  and  blue,  from  loneliness;   there  fly, 

Singing,  the  birds,  sweet  as  in  other  climes; 
Or  after  sunset,  there  the  swamp-hens  cry. 


51 


II 

Those  four  pale  petals  point  to  north  and  south 

And  east  and  west,   whence  sweeps  the  wind;    the 

growth 
Of  curling  prairie  grass  clings  to  the  ground. 
As  thickly,  softly  woven  as  a  cloth 
Of  tender  green,  within  whose  woot  that  pink. 
Four-leaved  flower  hke  a  rare  threadknot  doth 
Shine  out  and  show  the  great  earth's  guiding  points. 
Its  crimson-branching  veins  and  stem  are  both 
Rich  with  the  blood  of  Nature,  and  its  breath 
Sends  out  her  very  sweetness  to  the  drouth. 


52 


IV 


FLOS  FLORUM 

The  morning  sleepeth  pure 

And  pale,  intact,  entire, 

Unwakened  to  the  lure 

Of  a  long-hushed  desire. 

(O  hush,  thou  smouldering  heart  of  fire!) 

The  cold,  closed  joy  of  bloom 

Yet  unborn  of  the  mire, 

Mouldeth  within  the  gloom 

A  floweret  of  desire. 

(Grow  to  thy  fulness,  flower  of  fire !) 

Burn,  ether,  to  the  heart 
Of  rose  and  of  sapphire. 
For  flame  shall  form  a  part 
Of  my  bright  flower  of  fire. 
(For  thus  ariseth  thy  desire.) 

Thv  flame  shall  be  as  seven 

When  thou  at  last  aspire 

Into  the  fire  of  heaven 

To  follow  my  desire. 

(Thou  folded  flame,  thou  flower  of  fire.) 

Thou  shalt  be  mine,  thou  flower. 

For  thou  wert  my  desire 

Before  thy  opening  hour. 

Thou  flower,  thou  flower  of  fire ! 

(Bloom  thou  for  me,  for  my  desire !) 


55 


This  thou  shalt  surely  do 

When  thou  shalt  raise  thy  spire 

From  the  sweet  earth  unto 

The  heaven  of  my  desire! 

(Mine  art  thou  always,  flower  of  fire!) 

O  let  the  hour  be  long 
Of  thy  fire-souled  empire. 
Mine  is  the  hour  and  thine. 
Thou  flower,  thou  flower  of  fire! 
(Thou  flower,  my  flower  of  fire!) 


56 


SONGS 

Fly  away,  wind  of  the  desert  sands ; 

'  T  is  barren  there ; 
Carry  the  breath  I  give  unto  your  care 

To  other  lands. 

Find  him,  dear  wind,  wherever  he  may  be. 

The  while  you  blow  ; 
His  dwelling-places  you  may  never  know. 

Touch  him  for  me. 


I  WILL  go  with  you  over  seas  where  the  sun  rises. 
Or  lingers  your  spirit  near,  so  shall  we  turn 
Into  strange  swarms  of  men,  O  love! 
Hasten  and  find  me! 

Where  all  things  are  human,  I  will  go  with  you. 
Or  wanders  your  spirit  far,  so  shall  we  flee 
Forever  to  lonely  plains,  O  love. 
Hasten  and  find  me! 


57 


AUTUMN  HEART 

Likening  my  love  to  a  reluctant  flame — 
Thus  flickers  slow  the  life  in  Autumn's  heart. 
Thus  pallid  look  the  leaves  in  purple  frame 
Of  Autumn's  near,  cool  heaven.     Pale  is  the  part 
Love  plays  in  dreams  of  all  the  frail  old  bliss. 
Through  days  it  seems  Hfe  glowed  but  as  the  fire 
Behind  the  ruddy  leaves  that  bright  rays  kiss. 
Or  as  the  sun  in  amber  holds  empire. 

Stiller  than  sleep  left  languorous  by  love. 
Lies,  in  the  grove,  Hke  a  mosaic  floor, 
A  marbled  pool,  rich-inlaid  from  above 
By  the  bright  leaves,  lost  out  of  Autumn's  store. 
And  set  across  the  dark;ling  water's  brim. 
How  they  were  borne  by  winds  in  fierce  disport, 
A  sweep  of  crimson  clouds,  from  forest  rim. 
Or  sped  as  bright-dyed  sailboats  into  port. 
No  mortal  knows;  or  whether,  pale  and  slow. 
They  settled,  drifting,  as  the  first  soft  flakes 
Of  snow,  blown  in  a  sunset's  yellow  glow, 
I  cannot  tell.     Where  yonder  woodland  makes 
A  clustering,  gorgeous  crown  above  the  hill 
The  trees  seem  like  huge  blossoms,  so  they  blush. 
Yet  know  I  that  their  bloom  shall  not  fiilfil 
The  springtime  sign  of  summer's  flaunt  and  flush. 

Come,  Soul  of  my  Beloved,  walk  with  me! 
The  land  is  strange  and  wild  in  Autumn's  sway; 
Down  through  the  pensive  valley  Hes  the  way. 
By  yellowing,  whispering  willows  overhung, 

58 


And  on  the  ledge  stands  many  a  rugged  tree. 
In  rusty-red  leaves  clad,  or  russet,  flung 
Sombre  on  crimson,  carmine,  scarlet  hues. 
Yet  tainted  sad  with  Autumn's  dying  breath. 
Rising  in  purple  mist,  a  veil  of  death 
To  garb  the  glory  of  the  passing  hour. 
To  sanctify  all  lost  to  Nature's  use 
As  it  were  shrouded  pale  by  beauty's  power. 

Ascend  with  me,  thou  Soul,  the  gentle  hill 
Leading  aside  past  hedge  and  garden-close. 
To  the  grey  misty  orchard,  silvery-sweet. 
Where  love  seems  flitting  through  the  branches  still. 
And  ever  seems  to  wander  with  Hght  feet 
On  the  pale  grass  and  through  the  orchard  rows. 

0  linger  near  the  ghostly  grove  awhile. 
Spirit  of  my  far  love!    Or  let  us  stray 
Again,  and  catch  the  glimpse  of  sinuous  slopes 
Lying  about  the  marsh  beyond  the  stile 

Where  swam  the  lihes  when  the  year  was  warm. 
In  days  of  love  and  light  and  summer  hopes. 

By  fields  of  winter  wheat,  green  'neath  the  grey 
Of  solemn  sky,  and  past  the  homely  farm, 

1  lead  thee,  love,  in  spirit.    Look !  the  way 
Turns  and  is  lost,  over  the  sharp  hillside. 
But  far  we  wander  up,  and  on  the  verge 
Of  the  blunt  cliff  resounds  a  lonely  roar — 
The  hollow  tones  of  pines  swell  and  subside. 
O  still  and  sad,  my  heart,  harken  the  dirge 
Low  wailing  now  and  with  a  rising  blast, 

59 


The  organ-note  of  sorrow,  evermore 
Aloof  and  lofty,  solitary,  vast. 

Alas,  it  seems  I  hear  woe's  voice  afar 
Like  the  slow  pines ;  and  grief  doth  so  oppress 
As  the  close  heaven,  leaning  overhead; 
But  if  I  know  love's  touch  and  love's  caress. 
What  love  hath  given,  sorrow  may  not  mar!  — 
I  am  alone!  —  Where  is  thy  spirit  fled? 


60 


OBLIVION 

Bathed  in  the  dusk  depths  of  thine  eyes. 
My  bare  soul  shivers  in  the  stream 
Of  an  insatiable  surprise 
Wherein  I  wonder,  waken,  dream. 

Drenched  in  the  shadow  of  thy  gaze 
Mysterious  brooding  on  the  deep 
Splendour  of  thy  inner  days. 
My  hidden  longings  stir  from  sleep. 

Drowned  in  the  dark  pool  of  thy  look 
Where  wondrous  twilights  gleam  and  cease 
As  on  the  heart  of  some  slow  brook. 
Would  that  I  lay  in  timeless  peace! 


6i 


VENIT  REX 

Through  thy  rich  cloak  of  fleshly  calm. 
From  thine  eyes'  soul,  in  the  darkness  thereof. 
Germ  of  all  joy,  I  feel  thee! 

White  as  the  antique  fields  of  space 
Thy  wondrous  breast ;   fine  as  red  gold 
From  the  ageless  sun,  thy  living  crown ! 
In  the  endless  spring  of  everlasting  dreams. 
Fair  frame  of  manhood,  I  wait  thee! 

Ages  strove  to  give  thee  strength. 
Fickle  seasons  merged  for  thee 
Into  the  marvel  of  thy  heart. 
Slow  months  laboured  toward  thy  life. 
Wonder  of  love,  I  hail  thee ! 

Tenderness  rules  the  timeless  soul 
Caught  in  the  heaven  of  thy  depths. 
Charm  as  of  first  mute  loving  clothes 
Thy  ripened  days,  O  future  man  of  men! 
A  woman  worships  thee! 


62 


THE  POET 

(At  Eighteen) 


Sweet  as  a  saintly  psalm 
He  sings,  and  unaware. 
The  spirit  ponders  calm 
Through  song  and  prayer. 


fAt  Tiventy-fourJ 

Playeth  the  young  sultan,  arrogant. 
Humoured  by  easy  girls  he  calls  his  slaves. 
Turbans  and  scimitars  and  scarves  and  glaives. 
Treasured  and  gemmed,  sleep  'mong  his  carpets. 


(At  Thirty) 

Hath  lived  in  word  and  war  and  love. 
He  is  a  man  all  men  above. 
He  is  a  friend,  a  comrade,  peer 
Of  poet,  soldier,  king,  or  seer. 


(And  ivhen   his  dark  mane  shakes  in  the  sloiv  sea  air,  she,  from  a 

grove  oj"  strange,  stunted  cedars,  sings,  silently 

in  her  heart  to  the  poet :) 

The  prisoned  thought  my  soul  would  free 

He  knoweth  not ; 
He  heareth  nothing  but  the  sea. 

And  hath  forgot 
The  shore  ;  ignoreth  what  the  deeps  have  said  to  me. 

63 


O  poet,  died  unheard  the  note 

Of  my  dumb  song? 
Through  fruitless  air  my  kisses  smote 

(Alas,  how  long!) 
Across  the  gleam  of  sea-light  'round  your  mellow  throat. 

The  turquoise  girdle  binds  a  flame, 

0  lion  of  men ! 

A  queen  in  pride,  a  slave  in  shame, 

1  tremble  when 

You  crouch  in  vision  near  me,  powerful,  untame. 

Pillows  are  heaped  here  by  the  sand; 

0  sultan,  kneel! 
Suing  before  me  as  I  stand; 

1  fain  would  feel 

My  heavy  girdle  loosen  'neath  your  languid  hand. 

Under  the  cedars'  heavy  shade 

Our  empty  tent 
Holds  the  sweet  air  that  day-long  played. 

Before  you  went. 
About  us,  and  I  love  and  I  am  not  afraid. 

This  shore  will  never  be  the  old 

Indifferent  sand ; 
Though  he  were  sad,  though  he  were  cold. 

The  autumn  land 
Were  ours, — the  cedars  and  the  laurel's  rusty  gold. 

My  gems  lie  blue  as  tropic  seas 
Amid  the  grass 

64 


A-tremble  for  the  Southwest  breeze 

To  breathe  and  pass. 
And  turn  his  white  prow  landward  to  our  cedar  trees. 

The  tired  tides  wash  the  sandy  floor 

Beneath  my  feet. 
I  would  be  here  forever  more. 

For  it  is  sweet 
To  watch  the  lingering  wave  and  dream  upon  the  shore. 

The  afterglow  is  mine  alone. 

I  felt  a  vow 
In  the  pale  light  that  shone 

About  your  brow; 
The  kingly  dream  was  mine  and  is, — I  dream  it  now. 

Take  me  in  memory  as  then, 

O  my  slow  king ! 
For  you  are  more  than  other  men 

To  love  and  sing, — 
More  than  the  lover's  love  or  than  the  poet's  ken. 


65 


LOVE  OF  THE  NIGHT 

The  little  saint  is  in  his  niche. 
The  children  of  the  earth  asleep. 
I  love  the  wide  free  night  time,  which 
My  human  hovering  god  doth  keep. 

The  fountain  is  gone  dry,  the  park 
Is  bare  of  its  autumnal  bloom. 
The  brown  leaves  whisper  in  the  dark 
Above  the  brief,  bright  summer's  tomb. 

I  roam  and  linger  in  the  free. 

The  friendly  gusts  of  autumn  night, 

I  call  my  lover-god,  and  he 

Doth  answer  from  a  wind-swept  height. 

I  wander  wingless  over  space 

Where  aeons  watch  and  wild  winds  roll. 

He  veils  the  ardour  of  his  face. 

He  penetrates  my  sacred  soul. 


66 


AT  LAST 

After  the  strange  time  we  know  as  life. 
Those  long  hours  that  were  numb. 
Those  rushing  days  of  strife. 
Those  years  when  we  were  dumb, — 

After  those  binding  seasons  of  our  frost. 
The  wasted  decades  spent 
In  labour  blind  and  lost 
When  grief  did  not  relent, — 

After  the  time  when  hope  took  shadowy  form 
Under  that  earthly  cloud 
That  covereth  as  a  storm — 
Fearing  to  pray  aloud, — 

My  soul!    At  last  the  wonderment  is  gone. 
Open  your  eyes  and  see! 
At  last,  the  barriers  down. 
Fare  forth,  for  you  are  free! 


67 


ELEANOR 

So  late  I  came  unto  thy  tomb. 
The  gates  were  barred,  the  night  was  soft. 
And  through  the  dark  and  in  the  gloom 
I  saw  the  cypresses  aloft. 

I  knew  thy  lovely  little  head 
Lay  quietly  within  at  rest. 
Forever  free,  forever  dead — 
But,  ah!  the  heart  within  my  breast! 


68 


RESURRECTION 

Set  up  the  god  again  with  crown  and  wreath. 
The  pedestal,  camelia-hung,  restore. 
Let  the  love  have  its  olden  way  beneath 
Him  that  I  did  adore. 

O  he  was  fair  and  luminous  of  old! 
For  pearl  and  sunrise  gleamed  about  his  form. 
But  long  he  lay  sunk  in  the  stolid  mould 
After  the  fiery  storm. 

No  pageantry  shall  wind  about  his  base 
With  blossomed  fruit  and  spiral  of  perfume. 
Altars  of  awesome  sacrifice  no  place 
In  this  love  shall  assume. 

He  glows  more  softly  from  the  endless  years 
When  he  was  tombed  away  from  slavish  rite. 
His  cheeks  are  mellowed  by  a  lover's  tears. 
His  eyes  have  lost  their  light. 

Set  up  the  fallen  god  I  had  fain  feared. 
For  in  him  rises  life  from  out  the  clod. 
And  earthy  gold  his  high  soul  has  endeared, — 
I  love  the  fallen  god! 


69 


ABJURATION 

My  heart  has  been  asleep ; 
I  live  for  you. 
For  you  I  think  and  weep. 
If  you  but  knew. 

For  you  I  have  been  strong. 
And  I  am  weak ; 
The  day  and  night  are  long, 
I  may  not  speak. 

My  unripe  virgin  days 
Would  bloom  at  last. 
If  I  but  knew  the  ways 
Your  love  has  passed. 

The  child  is  yours  that  Hes 
Within  his  bed. 
But  I,  if  I  were  wise, 
I  should  be  dead. 

And  what  have  I  to  give 
That  you  have  not? 
For  what,  then,  shall  I  live. 
By  you  forgot? 

Who  loved  you  to  the  full 
That  my  love  lay 
By  you,  unmercifiil ! 
Thus  cast  away? 
70 


Forgive  me  if  I  cease 
To  love  you  now; 
Forgive  my  lonely  peace. 
My  broken  vow. 

If  others  love  you,  dear, 
I  shall  not  pine. 
Yours  be  all  love  and  cheer. 
You  are  not  mine! 


71 


THE    TWO    WAYS 

What  matter  be  it  rain  or  shining  weather? 
An  ardent  day  flows  cooled  by  small  refusings — 
The  silence  folding  lonely  little  musings — 
The  music  that  we  might  have  heard  together — 
A  track  of  thought  from  heart  to  heart  mistaken — 
These  are  a  love-dream  shaken. 

Our  paths  apart;  one  dull,  and  one  is  lonely. 
Now  high,  now  striking  low  into  abysses. 
Leading  its  downward  way  past  what  sad  kisses. 
What  union  for  a  passing  instant  only!  — 
One  wanders  on  its  way  in  peace  and  mildness. 
One  through  a  pristine  wildness. 

O  for  the  music  we  shall  hear  together 
When  two  ways  merge  in  one!    When  unrefusing 
The  silence  throbs  to  song!    What  then  of  choosing 
Whether  it  shall  be  rain  or  shining  weather! 
In  that  strange  day  the  hurricane  shall  hold  us. 
The  blast  of  love  enfold  us! 


72 


SECOND   WINTER 

The  soft  snow  lies  above  the  green  of  spring. 
It  clings  to  every  shrub  and  budding  thing ; 
Among  the  blossoms  on  the  apple-tree. 
Hang  whiter  blooms  of  winter's  garlanding. 

Along  the  avenue  the  elm  boughs  sway 
In  gracious  whitened  sprays  above  the  way; 
Afar  through  balmy  moisture-weighted  air. 
Upon  the  mountain-side  the  pines  are  grey. 

Pale  winter's  dying  hand  reached  forth  to  fling 
Among  the  sun-wooed  grass  a  lingering 
Handful  of  death-hke  flowerets,  soft  and  white 
And  cold,  upon  the  glowing  hfe  of  spring. 

And  winter's  hand  has  laid  a  gleaming  bed 

Of  filmy  white,  where  love-sweet  spring  has  spread 

The  feathery  fern  for  me  and  for  my  love 

To  lie  upon,  and  there  my  love  lies  dead. 

And  heavy  overlying  all  the  gloom 

Of  evergreen,  a  burden  white  as  foam 

Swings  Hke  the  sea's  slow  billows,  snowy-crowned. 

Changeful  and  fitting  emblem  for  his  tomb. 


73 


THE    NORTH 

O  Shadows  from  the  South! 
One  time  ye  bade  me  sing; 
Love's  promise  did  ye  bring 
In  summer's  drouth. 

Still  the  South  changeth  not ; 
Roses  her  poets  hold 
Where  the  world  doth  enfold 
A  garden  spot. 

Yet  far  I  see,  and  through 
The  darkling  Northern  sky 
Great  shades  arise  and  fly 

Where  storm  clouds  brew. 

There  is  the  spirit's  goal! 

0  melt  not  into  dream 
Where  lower  joy  doth  seem 

To  bind  the  soul! 

Away  with  puny  rhyme. 
With  madrigal  and  round! 

1  hear  no  more  the  sound 

Of  cymbal's  chime. 

Soar  far  where  the  keen  blast 
Of  Northern  longing  smites, 
Leave  oiF  thy  earthly  rites. 
Forget  thy  past! 

74 


O  thence  large  spirits  come! 
My  soul!    They  call  not  'love  '! 
They  love  not,  for  they  rove; 
High  is  their  home! 

Praise  the  great  Northern  ghosts! 
Myriads  have  come  and  gone ; 
Like  giants  move  they  on 
In  mighty  hosts! 


75 


IN    CHURCH 

He  was  a  god  as  he  stood  there 

In  the  violet  light  of  the  house  of  the  Lord. 

He  was  a  god  with  plenty  to  spare 

Of  life  and  sweetness  and  beauty  stored 

With  food  for  the  senses,  abundant,  rare. 

The  faintest  chant  of  the  faint,  sweet  choir 

Was  but  a  tale  of  his  beauty  told 

In  tender  words;   the  trembling  fire 

Of  the  organ  note,  and  the  deep  notes  rolled 

From  the  organ's  bass,  were  as  his  lyre 

Singing  his  soul  and  its  wondrous  power. 
Chanting  his  heart  in  accents  dim; 
From  the  rich-stained  glory  of  saint  and  flower 
Fell  a  light  that  seemed  to  shine  for  him 
With  the  royal  worship  of  the  hour. 

But  I  was  a  mortal  inspired  by  the  god 
With  immortal  love,  unwinged,  unsonged ; 
A  woman  of  earth,  a  mere  earth-clod, 
I  looked  with  worship,  and  looking,  longed 
In  the  church  whose  aisles  he  trod. 


76 


ODE    TO    THE    MOUNTAINS 

I 

The  dreaming  mountains  lie  athwart  the  plain 
In  plenitude  of  pride  and  distant  calm ; 

Their  grandeur  is  a  psalm 
Of  vaster  harmonies  than  human  tongue 
Creates  to  voice  its  pain  — 
A  lonely  anthem  from  their  inmost  caverns  sprung. 

II 

Yet  far  within  that  lofty  wooded  height 

Are  sweet  and  sacred  haunts  my  soul  may  see. 

Unknown,  forever  free 
From  profanation  of  the  blinded  crowd 
That  struggles  in  the  night 
Below  the  towering  summit's  earthward  drooping  cloud, 

III 

0  soHtary  caves,  O  secret  ways! 

I  yearn  toward  your  passionate  repose ; 

You  know  not  of  our  woes. 
Unfriend  our  discord,  stand  aloof  from  strife 
Wherein  the  pent  soul  stays 
In  mute  endurance  of  this  troubled  earthly  life. 

IV 

1  love  the  silvery  stir  of  your  high  groves; 

The  sighing  of  your  pines  unto  my  ear 

11 


Is  like  the  near 
Fond  whisper  of  a  friend,  dear  gift  of  earth. 
And  rarest  of  the  loves 
That  from  the  spirit's  throes  have  had  a  glorious  birth. 

V 

I  see  the  pale  still  moonlight  over  all; 

The  group  of  thickening  trees  about  your  steeps 

Mysteriously  sleeps 
In  shadow  fit  for  love's  secure  retreat; 
Dark  as  a  funeral  pall 
It  lies  in  heavy  silence,  beckoning  and  sweet. 

VI 

O  let  me  dream  within  the  holy  shade 

Of  those  unquestioning  hills,  O  let  my  voice 

Triumphally  rejoice 
In  that  great  hymn  pervading  your  still  air; 
O  may  my  song  be  made 
A  paean  of  the  thrall  that  love  holds  everywhere! 

VII 

And  let  me  dream  the  love  of  friend  to  friend! 
Your  rocks  do  not  more  steadfast  strength  bespeak; 

The  pale  and  silvery  peak 
Does  not  more  pure  and  free  from  earth  arise 
Ever  to  meet  and  blend 
And  cleave  with  calm  outline  the  changeful  evening 
skies. 

78 


VIII 

The  day  is  wan  when  friendship  is  not  there. 
When  void  of  living  idols  is  the  heart; 

Then  stand  ye  not  apart. 
But  in  your  beauteous  majesty  impose 
The  heights  that  are  so  fair 
In  the  eternal  consolation  nature  knows. 


IX 

Cold  as  the  crusted  snow  upon  your  slopes 
That  throws  afar  its  radiant  prism  lights 

To  live  lone  days  and  nights 
When  the  heart  dreams  of  long  awaited  love ; 
To  foster  fading  hopes. 
And  watch  the  everlasting  mountains  gleam  above. 


X 

I  have  not  always  looked  on  those  cold  hills 
And  in  their  majesty  found  hope  of  peace. 

With  promise  of  surcease 
To  pain  of  longing  and  to  love  of  grief ; 
Ah,  now  their  presence  chills 
The  warmth  of  memory's  life,  of  rapture  past  belief. 


XI 


Now  do  I  touch  the  strings  with  fearful  hand 
Calling  their  timid  tones  to  fluttering  life 

79 


In  faint  harmonious  strife ; 
In  dying  joy  the  frail  and  failing  note 
Trembles  beyond  command 
When  into  empty  silence  myriads  slowly  float. 

XII 

0  sweet  with  wordless  ecstasy  to  hear 

The  vibrant  tone  beneath  the  master's  bow. 

In  pulsing  fall  and  flow ; 
To  feel  the  rhythmic  pauses  throb  untold 
Upon  the  spirit's  ear. 
In  music,  most  like  love,  love's  ardor  to  behold. 

XIII 

1  have  heard  music  wilder  than  the  sound 

Of  summer  winds  that  rush  through  laden  boughs  ; 

A  gay  and  sad  carouse 
Of  lawless  strains  inspiring  sweetest  dole. 
And  pleasure  without  bound 
Where  sighed  and  sang  a  voice  from  out  love's  very 
soul. 

XIV 

Ye,  too,  have  struck  the  memory-laden  lute 
Resounding  in  melodious  song  for  song 

Within  a  heart  lifelong, 
Wondrously  throbbing  through  the  veins  like  fire ; 
O,  on  your  slopes  a  fruit 
Ye  bear  to  satisfy  a  thirsting  soul's  desire. 

80 


XV 

Harmonious  hear  the  roll  of  torrent!    Hark 
Unto  the  songful  swelling  of  the  breeze 

Among  the  hemlock  trees! 
'Tis  music!    There  hath  rapture  an  abode 
High  in  the  lonely  dark 
Wherever  on  the  sense  repose  hath  been  bestowed. 

XVI 

O  heavenly  hills !  great  joys  knew  I  before 
Your  godly  groves  my  spirit's  worship  felt 

Through  their  high  ether  melt ; 
My  tired  soul  toward  your  cloistered  heights  doth 
turn; 
Endue  me  evermore. 
So  thy  white  flames  of  peace  perpetual  bless  and  burn. 


8i 


DIABOLUS  ADVOCATUS 

Am  I  the  Devil  who  laid  me  down 
In  full  fatigue  of  sport  to  sleep. 
And  slept  as  in  a  spell  so  deep 
As  I  had  drunk  my  soul  to  drown? 

Meseems  I  stirred  and  tried  to  wake. 
But  strangest  silence  drugged  the  air. 
There  was  no  footstep  anywhere 
To  lure  me  where  a  Heart  might  ache 

And  dumbly  hail  distraction's  drink 
That  my  strong  hand  alone  can  pour. 
Skilful  to  fill  yet  more  and  more 
The  cup,  when  nectar  seems  to  sink. 

By  night,  when  simple  peace  hath  laid 
Her  few  to  sleep,  then  I  depart 
To  find  and  rescue  some  sad  Heart 
From  dream  of  death,  by  love  unmade. 

I  make  the  Heart  laugh  down  its  grief, 
I  personate  a  very  fool. 
Whose  inner  spirit  hides  a  ghoul 
Hoarding  its  hunger  past  relief. 

I  play  the  mandolin  and  blow 
The  luring  flute ;  upriseth  then 
One  of  your  heavy  Hearts,  O  men. 
To  tread  in  tuneful  to  and  fro. 

82 


I  am  the  spirit  that  laughs  and  sings. 
The  soul  of  music,  the  life  of  the  dance, 
I  am  the  odour  of  flowers,  perchance 
The  essence  of  manifold  lovely  things. 

I  bring  a  vision  from  the  dark. 

Smiling  in  promise  of  love's  glow, 

I  lull  the  Heart,  I  still  the  woe, 

I  save  you,  men,  from  Hell's  own  mark. 

I  am  the  Devil  who  lay  me  down 
In  full  fatigue  of  sport  to  sleep. 
And  dream  I  have  a  world  to  keep 
From  woe,  and  all  men's  care  to  drown. 


83 


PRAYER 

Clear  off  the  clod  of  earthly  cerement. 
Open  the  coffin  where  my  soul  is  shrouded 
Under  the  sky  of  living  immanent. 
Or  be  it  bright  or  clouded. 
Open  to  me  the  sky! 

I  give  you  browning  roses  from  the  wreath 
These  heavy  hands  within  were  numbly  clutching. 
Lips  that  were  warm  again  beneath  your  breath. 
Throat  to  your  tardy  touching, — 
Open,  I  would  not  die! 


84 


V 


THE  LOST  CONTINENT 

O  GREAT  Atlantis!    Faint  and  vast  you  gleam 
Far  in  a  shadowy  past ;   above  your  shore 
The  mists  of  mighty  ages  dimly  lower 
And  hide  vour  wonders  as  within  a  dream. 
Softly  your  pearly  mountain  summits  seem 
To  settle  toward  the  ocean's  shifting  floor. 
For  man  shall  view  your  beauty  nevermore. 
Save  in  a  Hindoo  prophet's  mystic  scheme. 
Would  I  could  know  the  past!    O  would  my  soul 
Could  see,  as  in  a  silvery  mirrored  space. 
All  that  the  world  has  done;   discern  the  goal 
At  which  pale  myriads  of  mankind  efface 
The  remnant  of  their  spirit's  filmy  grace 
And  fade  into  the  universal  whole! 


87 


BONDAGE 

Let  the  man  live  in  quiet  where  he  be 
If  he  but  think  contentment  doth  abide 
Within  the  cottage  where  his  loves  reside. 
For  he  hath  never  struggled  to  be  free. 
There  may  no  promise  serve  nor  any  plea. 
To  change  his  calm  and  draw  his  steps  aside 
From  that  sweet  path  whose  by-ways  he  hath  tried 
Until  he  know  them  as  his  own  country. 
So  roam  again,  thou  idle,  dreaming  soul! 
Regretful  wander  toward  the  misty  shore 
Whither  wild  spirits  troop  as  to  a  goal. 
To  watch  the  later  light  glow  in  the  west: 
Roam  ever,  shouldst  thou  still  know  joy  no  more! 
Perchance  thou  findest  thus  the  future  rest. 


88 


POSTPONEMENT 

Ye  great  hours  that  are  few  and  full  of  love, 
I  see  you  as  you  rise  supremely  fraught. 
Out  of  the  darkened  pool  that  is  my  thought. 
Into  the  silver  heaven  spread  above. 
Rise  and  be  glorified  as  ye  remove. 
From  human  bondage  ye  should  not  be  sought. 
Nor  ever  more  by  my  volition  brought 
From  regions  w^here  your  perfect  periods  move. 
O  lesser  moments,  smooth  your  petty  way 
As  'twere  a  blessed  prairie  for  my  feet. 
So  that  my  steps  shall  linger  not  nor  stay 
Until  the  day  when  time  shall  show  the  road 
Leading  sublime  where  blisses  lost  and  sweet 
Hold  the  high  heaven  in  their  divine  abode! 


89 


ASSURANCE 

The  strong  red  blooms  tower  high,  enshrined  beneath 

By  myriads  of  green  leafy  shadows  pressing 

Jealously  upward :  clasping  and  caressing. 

Fold  amorously  they  to  screen  and  sheathe. 

Yet  do  they  hinder  not  that  others  breathe 

Love's  air,  and  breathing,  seek  that  love's  expressing. 

Richly  they  grant  the  lover  all  their  blessing 

When  the  great  tumults  of  his  passion  seethe. 

O  roses,  taunt  the  still  heart  with  its  coldness. 

And  in  his  longing  let  the  lover  borrow 

Out  of  your  crimson  mouths  a  rapturous  message! 

Well  may  ye  fret  a  shy  heart  with  your  boldness. 

For,  emblems  of  love's  joy  and  of  love's  sorrow. 

Desire  beholds  you  rise  in  glorious  presage! 


90 


MISSED    AFFINITY 

With  intermittent  words  and  measured  walk. 
Two  bounden  souls,  we  paced  the  quiet  street 
At  darkest  hour,  and  in  my  heart  a  sweet 
And  hidden  well  was  leaping  toward  our  talk. 
But  fell  as  if  a  barrier  should  balk 
The  impulse  of  the  inner  flood  to  meet 
The  air,  hinder  dumb  waters  to  entreat 
Their  freedom  from  an  earthy  catafalque. 
The  ocean  of  the  soul  is  deep  and  dark, 
O,  shoreless  is  the  ocean  of  my  soul !  — 
Earth-choked,  rock-bound,  chaotic,  cold  and  stark. 
I  hear  the  waters  washing  in  the  gloom. 
May  outlet  loose  them  from  the  earth's  control. 


91 


SONNET 

Love,  give  to  me  the  life  of  all  the  life ! 
Make  flippant  joys  to  merge,  make  self  to  fuse 
With  soul  of  fire!    Give  me  new  youth  to  use. 
New  summer  of  sweet  air  and  flower  unfurled! 
Love,  strike  on  me  the  heaven's  terror  whirled 
From  space,  that  my  dull  heart  may  know  the  bruise 
Of  love's  supremest  lightning!    O  infuse 
Our  souls  with  swift  fire  in  thy  orbit  swirled 
Forever!    Love,  shed  over  me  the  flush 
From  planetary  purple,  pour  the  glows 
Of  dawn  and  dusk,  of  sunlit  midnight  rose 
Through  all  my  spreading  soul,  an  airless  breath! 
Bring  on  the  night,  let  vanish  in  the  hush 
My  singleness,  and  after,  love,  bring  death! 


92 


'  o,'*^\.  A.v<w-?.i.te-l 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00034311496 


